Even Older Brothers
by fantasydancer
Summary: "Brothers take care of each other, Athos. And sometimes even big brothers need someone to take care of them." I have no excuse. Pre-series. Warning: Contains non-sexual spanking between two adult males. Don't like. Don't read.


**_A/N: I couldn't resist. While I'm always a sucker for D'Artagnan, I also love stories pre-series when it was just the three Inseparables. I've never seen one where one of the other musketeers takes Athos to task, and even "big brother" screws up sometimes. Flames will be bound, gagged, and hanged. Enjoy!_**

**_Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, but I wish I did. BBC and Alexandre Dumas do. _**

Athos woke up in desperate need of a bucket.

He bolted upright, feeling his stomach churn. Stumbling out of bed, he somehow found the empty vessel he sought in the corner of his room.

When he finally finished emptying the contents of his stomach, Athos sat back on his heels, running a sleeve over his damp face.

He could barely remember the night before. He remembered, only vaguely, the details of the brawl, but he couldn't recall what it had even been about. He did, however, remember banging his head over something hard. He lifted his hand to inspect the bump on the side of his head. Thankfully, it hadn't broken skin, but it was still pretty tender.

Athos was still resting on the floor, his back leaning against the wall, when the door was shoved open and two figures, one bulky and one slim, barged into the room. Athos grunted and put a hand up to shield his face from the sudden sunlight.

"Good morning to you, Athos!" Aramis cried with a cheery grin.

Athos wished he had a boot to throw at him. (He contemplated the bucket beside him, but that would have been messy.)

Instead, he settled for an acerbic reply. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

Aramis smiled sympathetically. "Let me see your head." He instructed, kneeling beside his friend. The Spaniard brushed Athos' hair out of the way, enabling him to better see the bruised flesh. It was red, and a nice-size lump had formed, but it would heal easily in a few days. Aramis then grabbed Athos' face, holding it steady and prying his eyelids wider. When he finally let Athos go, and stood again, he stated, "No concussion."

The other two men sighed in relief. Porthos closed the door, and then pulled the shutters closed, too, knowing the dimness would help to ease Athos' headache.

"Come on," Aramis muttered, taking Athos' arm and gesturing for Porthos to do the same. "Let's get you back in bed. We'll tell the captain you've been injured."

Once they had him settled in bed, Athos said, leaning against his pillow once more with a groan, "He'll want to know how."

"Then we'll tell him the truth," Porthos stated bluntly, "Captain, Athos was a fool and went and drank himself dumb all alone last night, and somehow he ended up in a brawl and now has the makings of a rather sore head and near concussion, but he'll be up in a few hours."

Athos threw him a sour look. "Do you know how many times I've listened to his lectures on fighting with Red Guards?"

"At least as many as we have, Athos," Aramis said with mocking cheerfulness, "for we are usually the reason you were getting them."

Athos glared, but the cool, damp cloth Aramis had prepared and now presented to his friend seemed to lessen his annoyance. Athos leaned back, placing the cloth over his forehead and eyes, and letting it ease his throbbing head and cleanse the sweat from his brow.

"I'll bring something to help with any pain," Aramis said, turning to leave, "I'll return shortly. Keep an eye on the patient, would you, Porthos? Make sure he doesn't wander into any more brawls while I'm gone. I would hate to miss out."

"How's your head?" Porthos asked once Aramis had gone.

Athos groaned and moved the wet cloth up his forehead so he could see his big friend in the dim room. "Pounding, but better since you closed the shutters."

Porthos snorted. "Yeah, I'll bet." He moved to sit at the end of Athos's bed and, sobering, stated, "We need to talk."

Athos frowned. "About what?"

"How much do you remember?"

Athos looked away, thinking. Finally, he said, "I remember drinking, and minding my own business. Then someone bumped into me?" He looked to Porthos for confirmation. When his friend nodded, Athos continued, "And I challenged him, and we fought."

Porthos scoffed. "To put it plainly. You're lucky I found you when I did. He near threw you into the fireplace. You cracked your head on the mantle. I knocked him flat and then carried your sorry arse back here."

Athos' lip twitched humorously. "Thanks."

Porthos patted his leg. "No problem. But me and you are still having a talk about drinking that much. Especially when Aramis or me ain't there."

Athos sighed and pulled the cloth back over his eyes. "I think the scolding can wait, Porthos."

"You're right. 'Cause I plan to do more than scold ya."

Athos started and pulled the cloth off completely. "What?"

Porthos fixed him with a stern look and raised an eyebrow. Athos' eyes grew wide. "You wouldn't. Y-you can't." He breathed.

Both of Porthos' eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I can't, is it?"

"I'm older!"

"By a year, maybe. But I don't know when my birthday is, so right now, I'm going to say I'm older. Come on," He tugged on his friend's arm. "Up."

Athos was frozen. "Porthos, please." He pleaded. He knew he would never win in a fight against his friend. He looked at the door, contemplating his escape route. Athos was fast, but Porthos was faster.

Still, "Porthos, I have a right to go drinking."

Porthos nodded. "You're right. You do. But I've told you plenty of times before that it was unsafe to go drinking alone."

"I can take care of myself." Athos said, standing quickly.

Porthos shook his head. "I know you can," his voice was placating, and it soothed Athos' ruffled feathers a bit, "But that doesn't make it safe. That Red Guard could have killed you last night."

Athos hesitated. His friend was right. If it wasn't for Porthos, Athos might be dead now.

The hesitation gave Porthos just enough time to grab Athos about the waist and toss him over his knees with little effort. He wrapped a securing arm around Athos' waist, and held him tightly in place. Then, reaching under Athos to unlace them, he pulled his breeches and small clothes down to his knees. Athos felt his face redden and barely suppressed a humiliated groan as he felt his bottom bared. He should have expected it, of course. He spanked the others bare. Why should he think Porthos would allow him any more dignity?

And then Porthos' first swat fell. The sound of bare flesh being struck echoed 'round the small chamber, and Athos jerked, involuntarily gasping. "Porthos! I order you to stop!"

"Order me?" The bigger man snorted. He brought his hand down hard a few more times before settling into a steady rhythm. "You're past the right to order me, Athos. You know how me and Aramis feel when you go out drinking alone. We don't think too much about your drinking. We respect it, and we leave it. What we don't like is when you do it alone. You could have been killed last night, Athos! Do you know what that would do to me and Aramis?" He broke off, his voice breaking with the thought.

Guilt tugged at Athos's heartstrings. He wasn't sorry he went drinking. But he was sorry he'd worried his friends. Still, what right did Porthos have to go around spanking him for? Athos was the older brother. He spanked his younger brothers, not the other way around.

Athos thrashed around, but Porthos, miserable sod that he was, didn't slow in his efforts. The former Comte growled, clawing at his friend's leg, only to find his free arm pinned behind his back. In the next instant, his legs also were trapped beneath Porthos' right.

Athos' bottom was growing rather warm now. Uncomfortably so. Something stung the back of his eyes, and he gasped, realizing they were tears. "Porthos." He pleaded lowly. Hs face was burning with shame, and he suddenly became aware that nearly anyone in the garrison could have heard what was going on. Then he blanched. Aramis was due to return anytime now. That was a whole other form of humiliation he didn't want to bear.

"Porthos, please stop." He pleaded again, shifting his hips to avoid the next scorching spank.

"I decide when we're done, brother. Not you," the bigger man said simply.

Athos groaned inwardly. How like his friend to repeat Athos' own words back to him. Athos clenched and unclenched the fist of his free hand. Anything to take his mind off of the growing burn in his backside. He tried to imagine he was socking Porthos in the jaw with it.

"Are you ready to apologize?" Porthos asked.

Athos growled and banged his fist against the bedclothes. "Apologize for what? A man's got a right to drink!"

Porthos gave him a hearty whap for the small outburst. "I thought we could have a civilized conversation about this. Perhaps I was wrong. I see you're not ready to talk yet."

He went back to applying his burning swats silently to Athos' now rosy bottom. Athos squeezed his eyes shut. Through clenched teeth, he ground out, "No! No! I-I am ready t-to talk."

Porthos didn't slow. "Oh? Are you? What do you have to say then?"

Athos lowered his head, feeling rather defeated, and mumbled, "I am sorry that I gave you and Ar-Aramis cause to w-worry." And he was. Had something happened to him, Athos' friends would have torn themselves apart. Athos had already responsible for the death of one brother, he was not about to be responsible for two more.

Porthos nodded. "And do you plan to go out drinking, alone, to that extent again?"

Athos hesitated. "I can't promise I won't. But I can promise I will try."

Porthos stopped spanking, and rested his hand on Athos' lower back. Lowly he murmured, "That's all we can ask."

Athos drooped, his limbs feeling weak and useless as the tension drained from them. He closed his eyes, sniffling and trying to quiet his soft weeping. Never one to back from a fight silently though, he muttered, "I st-still don't s-see what g-gave you the r-right to do _this_ to _m-me_."

Porthos slowly rubbed his friend's back, as he spoke, his voice low and soothing, "Brothers take care of each other, Athos. And sometimes even big brothers need someone to take care of them."

Athos felt a sharp knot in his throat. He drew a shaky breath, and pushed himself onto his elbows, allowing him to see Porthos better. His voice was still a bit rough as he spoke, "Tha-Thank you, brother."

Porthos smiled warmly, and made to help his friend stand. "You're welcome. Besides, who else would wanna put up with your sorry hide?"

Athos chuckled weakly. He redressed, slowly and carefully pulling his breeches over his throbbing bottom, before giving Porthos a slightly grieved look. "Just know, next time you find yourself over my lap, I'll remember this."

Porthos laughed and stood, pulling his friend into a tight embrace which Athos readily returned. Truthfully, Porthos hadn't been entirely certain how Athos would take to being spanked by his best friend. Porthos and Aramis accepted discipline from Athos easily enough. He was their older brother and leader. But for their roles to be reversed? Well, let's just say Porthos was fearing for his own backside.

Athos lay his head on Porthos' shoulder, allowing himself a few moments of physical intimacy until he had regained some of his dignity. Normally, he would have shunned it, but he knew Porthos would never have allowed him to anyways. He couldn't say he didn't deserve what Porthos had given him. In fact, he vowed he probably deserved more. He made it his mission to protect his brothers at all cost, and getting himself killed would do none of them any good.

They were just pulling apart when Aramis blew into the room again with a loud, "I'm back!" He froze, his face falling into a puzzled expression as he realized that Athos was not in bed and scowling at him over the covers. Instead, said patient was standing and scowling.

"You could learn to knock." Athos bit astringently, wincing in the light.

"Close the door, Aramis." Porthos complained, shading his own eyes.

But Aramis' brain was too busy putting two and two together. Athos usually looked a tad disheveled after a night of heavy drinking. His eyes were usually red, and he usually stumbled a bit until he got his bearings. But there was something about the way he stood, the tear stains on his cheeks, and the hunched, slightly embarrassed slump of his shoulders. Aramis' mouth dropped, and he looked to Porthos, saying in a hushed voice, "You spanked him?" When neither spoke, Aramis grinned widely, turning to Athos. "He spanked you. Well, good!"

Athos blushed twelve different shades of red, while Porthos simply shook his head. "Close the door, Aramis."

* * *

Even Treville wasn't oblivious to what went on between his Inseparables. In fact, he rather smiled when he saw Athos or Porthos hauling Aramis off to some secluded place to 'discuss' his recent decisions. Or, on those rare days when Porthos was in need of some discipline, Athos would grab him by the back of his collar, and shove the larger man along. But he had to admit it was somewhat of a surprise when he noticed Athos at training that afternoon, his eyes red and he was surreptitiously rubbing his bottom. The captain blinked several times, unsure of whether or not he was believing what he saw. Surely not, he thought. But the signs were there, and he'd seen his men at their best and their worst.

His suspicions were all but confirmed in the next moment as Aramis came up behind his friend, tapping his sword playfully against Athos' backside. Athos jumped, barely suppressing a yelp. Aramis danced away, snickering at his irate friend. Athos tossed his own sword to the ground, lunging for his grinning younger comrade, and pulling him into a headlock. Aramis struggled to break free, now frowning and pleading for mercy. Athos, however, wasn't feeling particularly merciful. He brought the flat of his hand down onto Aramis' bottom a few good times before finally setting the indignant Spaniard back on his feet.

Treville was still suppressing a smile when Porthos climbed the stairs with the letter Treville had requested him to fetch. He took it, smiling. "Thank you, Porthos."

"My pleasure, Captain." He turned to return to the yard.

Before he could, Treville placed a hand on his shoulder, prompting the Musketeer to turn. Treville smiled warmly at him, glancing down to where Aramis and Athos were standing, avoiding the knowing looks and snickers from the other men in the garrison. "Well done," He said simply.

Porthos followed the captain's eyes and grinned. He shrugged. "Someone's gotta keep him out of the gutter, and it may as well be me."


End file.
